


bouquets of sunsets

by eyeronicmuch



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 22:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17211704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeronicmuch/pseuds/eyeronicmuch
Summary: “Flowers are meant to be free.”





	bouquets of sunsets

The skies were painted an ugly grey, light clouds mixed with dark smoke coming from the chimneys, the lanterns’ bleak lights being the only color standing out from the depressive monochrome of the city. Doyoung walked through slush and mud, dirtying his new leather boots, but he paid it no mind. He seemed deep in thought, thinking about everything and nothing at once, his running mind keeping him warm. It was cold; extremely so. His cheeks were a prominent pink, the tips of his ears were a stinging red, his eyes were slightly wet. The wind bit his cheeks, and as he blinked the warm tears away, they instantly turned cold when they trailed down his face, crystallizing. It was far too cold. Snowflakes fell onto his long eyelashes and raven hair in uneven white blotches, staying in place, contrasting against the black, adding more to the colorlessness of the picture. 

He huffed, his warm breath forming a cloud of air, as he opened the rusty door to the flower shop on the corner of the street. The once pleasant smell of flowers felt overly suffocating, despite the lightness of the atmosphere and the brightness of the room. He walked up to the flowers, admiring the violet irises and the purple bellflowers, and picked them out, along with a couple of more blueish purple flowers he didn’t know the name of; he felt rather melancholic today. His heels clacked against the floor as he strode towards the counter, the clean parquet getting covered with mud from the outside with every step. 

The shop was rather quiet and empty, save for a young man, an employee, emerging from the store room. He looked surprised to see Doyoung, eyes widening and then softening upon the recognition. There was a faint smile on his face, so small it was barely noticeable. If Doyoung hadn’t looked close enough he would’ve missed it, but he never did.

The man brushed off the snow from Doyoung’s long coat, the snowflakes falling onto the floor and melting almost instantly. He was a tad bit shorter than Doyoung, his expression looked fond, but his face was still. Doyoung paid for the bouquet, struggling to take out his wallet, and handed it over to the man.

“For you.”

The man laughed. “Are you going to do this every time you come here?” He took his apron off over his head, his newly dyed blondish hair falling messily onto his eyes, ruffled. He looked soft. 

The man slowly put his own coat on, linked his arms with Doyoung’s and they headed out. The sky was darker, the gloomy greys long blended into smudges of something in between blue and black. The sky was starless that night. 

Doyoung noticed the dark circles under the man’s eyes. “Want to go home?”

The man nodded silently, looking at the snowy pavement under his feet. Today he was quieter than usual. “That would be nice.” 

Doyoung took him to his apartment. The car ride was mellow; the quiet music from the radio and the man’s soft snores allowed him to submerge himself into his own thoughts and think. Think about the sadness of the weather, the slippery road ahead, the warm leather seats, about the past, the future, about the man next to him – about their future. He shook these thoughts off. Doyoung’s relationship with the man was unclear to him. They weren’t as close at Doyoung would like them to be, even after two years. The man was still as mysterious to him, never talking about them together in the future, only about the present – it was always about the present – and that spiraled Doyoung into endless restlessness and tension. 

They were together. But he wanted more, more than they had at the moment. Doyoung wanted more than to escort him back home, to watch his tired eyes fall into slumber and his tense face turn peaceful, watch his chest fall and rise with every deep breath, wanted to take him out more – but they both were busy. Doyoung ran his own business, and the man managed the quaint flower shop. He always came home smelling like faded gardenias and roses and Doyoung liked it a lot. He liked it even more when the man told him that he always smelled of freshness and the winter breeze. He thought the two scents mixed well together, them molding into the smell of the beach in spring, when the flowers start to bloom and when the water is still freezing cold.

Despite everything, Doyoung loved spending time with him. He was one of a kind – with an enigmatic aura around him, alluring gestures, steady tone of conversation. He was often lively, like a free spirit, eager to see and experience new things, which Doyoung found endearing, however tiredness made those strong feelings subside. Managing a whole store weighed him down, chained him with a responsibility Doyoung didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave behind. “Why do you work here if you don’t like it that much?” Doyoung would ask. “The flowers are pretty,” the man would answer, looking at the tulips then at Doyoung, but not quite at him. It was odd, rather odd to him, but Doyoung went along.

He parked the car, and shook the man wake. 

“Yuta, wake up,” he said softly, almost like a whisper.

Yuta’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Doyoung fixed his messy hair, running his hand through Yuta’s locks gently. Yuta leaned into the touch, gaze unfocused, still sleepy. Doyoung gave him a quick peck on the cheek, pulling away when Yuta squirmed.

The flowers got put into a crystal vase in the apartment. Doyoung busied himself with cooking up last minute dinner, while Yuta read aloud on the couch. Something about politics and corruption, Doyoung didn’t quite pay attention. He concentrated more on Yuta’s soft, tender voice, reading perfectly, without any hesitation. Yuta loved to read a lot. Doyoung loved listening.

Over dinner Yuta let Doyoung speak about his day. Doyoung was okay with doing most of the talking, he was okay with many things. He was also okay with Yuta snuggling up to him on the bed, being enveloped in comfort and warmth, was more than okay with the man kissing him goodnight and turning away from him, nodding off. Doyoung fell asleep soundly, counting imaginary stars.

He woke up an empty bed. It was always like that. Yuta would leave quietly, they would spend the day apart and reunite in the evening, under the coldness of the air but the warmth of their hearts. Doyoung was okay with that too.

At some point, maybe on a particularly colder night, Doyoung brought up marriage, subtly. It’s been on his mind a lot recently. “Oh no,” Yuta shook his head, “i’m not cut out to be a husband.” he refused. He always refused. Doyoung never pushed for more. Never brought up the silver rings stored away safely in velvet boxes in his nightstand. There wasn’t any need to.

Yuta didn’t often say the three words Doyoung always longed to hear, but when he did, Doyoung gripped onto them like lifeline. “I love you,” it always sounded quiet, but sure. Doyoung let himself bask in the sincerity coming from Yuta’s heart. 

“Say it again.” Doyoung didn’t hear these angelic words enough. Yuta repeated himself, smiling down warmly. He reminded Doyoung of sunrises and sunsets, the retreating sun rays and the pink and orange cloudless skies, of autumn and spring, of the calm shore, reminded Doyoung of a flower – delicate, fragile, with thorns, untouchable. Yuta caressed Doyoung’s features, saying it again and again. For Doyoung, that was enough. 

The snow layered on the branches of the trees fell like waterfalls, glimmering from the cold sun. The sky was unusually clear, despite a few sparse fluffy clouds, and Doyoung felt his spirits lifting, which was uncommon. It was midday, and he decided to spent his lunch break in Yuta’s flower shop. 

He saw Yuta arranging flowers from the other side of the glass with the same solemn expression, delicate hands gently holding onto the stems. He seemed so peaceful and so deep in thought, Doyoung didn’t want to interrupt. 

Yuta noticed his presence and looked up from the arrangement. A smile graced his lips, a pretty, shy smile. 

The holiday season was over, so the store was mostly empty, to Yuta’s utter relief. He dealt with far too many orders and impatient customers, now finally having time to enjoy the flowers to himself, to take care of them without rush, without urgency. Doyoung stepped inside. 

“Don’t buy me any flowers,” Yuta said in lieu of a greeting, sounding rather playful. Doyoung chuckled. 

Yuta proceeded to close the store up – it was a Friday and he always closed the shop earlier on Fridays – but not before watering the flowers and cutting dead leaves off, cleaning the floor and checking the place for any untidy spots. He liked things neat and clean. Instead of linking his arm with Doyoung’s he intertwined their hands without much thought, as if it was something natural. Doyoung couldn’t help but feel his cheeks heat up; he wasn’t used to such gestures. 

They opted for a stroll around the neighborhood, then up to the center of the city, that was covered in fairy lights and bright sparkles, the traces of the holiday season still evident but gradually fading. Unnecessary, but pretty nonetheless. Doyoung asked for Yuta’s resolutions for the new year.

“Ah,” Yuta mused, “I’d like to travel,” he said.

“Where to?”

“Everywhere.” Yuta’s eyes sparkled with an unknown shimmer. “I want to climb mountains, cross canyons and deserts, see volcanoes and tropical countries – I want to see the world, explore each and every nook and cranny of the planet, before it’s too late.”

Doyoung hummed, “I never took you for an adventurous type.”

“You don’t know me that well,” was what Yuta had said. 

“Then tell me.”

“But I do.” Yuta retorted. “You just don’t listen.”

He stopped by the decorated stalls, which exuded a pleasant aroma of cinnamon, coffee, caramel and chocolate, entrancing the passerbys, and the pair included. Doyoung snapped a few photos of Yuta holding a hug of hot cocoa, eyes downcast, looking at the plastic cup, cheeks rosy. He pulled down his large knitted scarf to take a sip, cringing a bit at the hotness of the drink. Doyoung a photo of that too, not so subtly. 

“Oh how I wish I could experience a warm winter,” Yuta dreamed, after they had walked from the square up to the park with a bridge above the road. He looked down at the river, over the dirty glass, looked at the ice on the water and the dark, tiny ducks resting on it. His nose was bright red from the cold, much alike to a rudolph’s; he was wearing Doyoung’s extra pair of gloves that were too big on him. Doyoung wished the winters were warmer here. 

They walked down the road to the theater. Snow began to fall again in slow, steady, yet chaotic movements. The snowflakes were as big as cornflakes, Yuta caught them with the top of him palm, and they melted right away. 

“We should go to the theater some time.” Doyoung suggested, staring at the pillars and the ionic orders, lifted his gaze up to the four bronze horses that now were green at the top of the building. The architecture was something he always loved about it. Yuta only hummed in response. “We should.” He tugged at the end of Doyoung’s coat, not saying aloud that it’s too cold to not move. They hopped into the metro and rode back to their homes, besides the clatter of the train and the screeching against the rails, the ride was rather quiet. 

The purple irises wilted, and Doyoung bought another arrangement of flowers, consisting of bright oranges and pinks, which reminded him oh so much of the man he adored, even though on occasion Yuta was more faded than vibrant. 

Every time he had visited the flower shop Yuta seemed disinterested in it yet he attended to the plants themselves so much, Doyoung didn’t understand him sometimes. 

“The plants will grow and be set free,” he said, watering the succulents. “Who knows where they’ll be taken.”

Doyoung dwelled on the words for a bit too long. He understood the hidden message behind them very well, and yet, he still courted Yuta as he always did each evening, flowing into their daily routine; first they went to the theater, to see an opera they didn’t understand the words to, then to a restaurant, where they ate overpriced dishes they could’ve cooked themselves, then back home. As much as he loved the man, he didn’t want to let him go.

Over the week, Doyoung noticed magazines about travel and geography books stack up on Yuta’s desk. He paid it no mind, he really didn’t. He listened to Yuta talk about the world with hearts in his eyes, and maybe that’s what Yuta meant when he said he doesn’t listen. Doyoung often found himself draining out the words and admiring the man before him, he did it subconsciously. 

“Before you take me out each evening, I read.” Yuta said, when they were lazing around in Yuta’s humble apartment. Besides Doyoung’s weekly bouquets, funnily enough, it was lifeless. “I read a lot. From diaries, to travel guides, to just simple facts. Why do you think i’ve always looked so tired?” Yuta was resting his head on Doyoung’s lap, the latter playing with the hairs on his nape. Yuta was looking up at Doyoung with so much certainty and thought, Doyoung found himself even more lost in his starry eyes. 

“I’ve always been uncertain with my future. Had too many interests as a child, couldn’t pick something i’d like to pursue in the future. I liked many things, but hadn’t liked them enough.” Yuta spoke sweetly, his words weighing down on Doyoung’s shoulders. He really didn’t know Yuta that well. 

“Because of that I was scared of what was to come, of the future, not because there were so many possibilities, but because there were none.” He sounded melancholic, too melancholic. “I thought I could grow to love working at the flower shop, but alas, I’ve only learnt to love the flowers.” 

Yuta didn’t speak for a while after that. “I’m far too lost.” Doyoung thought he was like a bud waiting for an opportunity to bloom.

When the snow melted rivers of rivers, washing away the traces of winter, Yuta was determined. “I’m going abroad.” He said out of the blue. “I don’t know when I’ll return, or if I actually will. I don’t know yet.”

Doyoung felt something unpleasant sizzle in his chest. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning. After dawn.”

That night, Yuta kissed Doyoung with more emotion, more feeling that he has ever shown. Doyoung felt Yuta’s warm tears form on the pillow, tears from sadness, pain, eventual freedom. 

Doyoung woke up as if from a nightmare, only to realize that what was happening was reality after all. Yuta was packing his bags on the other end of the room, bare-chested, quiet, pretty as always. The sun illuminated his broad chest, lean muscles and toned arms, highlighted his angelic face, and as Yuta turned to face Doyoung, it managed to somewhat conceal his apologetic and pained smile.

Yuta watered the plants, for the last time, probably. 

“I’ll finally be closing the store up.” He sounded a bit remorseful. “Maybe it didn’t help me find myself, but it did help me find you,” he turned to Doyoung, an already reminiscing smile on his lips. Doyoung felt to close to tears.

“Then take this.” 

He pulled out a red velvet box from the pocket of his trousers, gripped onto it hardly. 

“What’s this?”

Doyoung opened the box, letting a delicate silver ring with a crystal shine in the light. Yuta’s eyes filled with momentary panic, he shook his head vigorously, “Doyoung, no, you know how–” 

“I do know.” Doyoung interrupted. “I’m not proposing,” he shoved the box into Yuta’s already trembling hands, his own hands were quite shaky too. 

“Sell it.” 

“W–what?”

“Sell the ring. You’ll need the money you’ll get from it. For wherever you go.”

“Doyoung–” Yuta faltered. His eyes looked glassy, expression full of confusion, gratefulness, maybe even love. “You can’t do this.”

“But I can.” Doyoung kissed a stray tear away. “Because I love you.”

He smiled gently down at Yuta, so warmly and so tenderly. He said it without regrets. “Flowers are meant to be free.”

He got a letter from Yuta several weeks later. It said that he wasn’t set on returning, and asked not to look for him. Not until he’s seen what he had wanted to for all these years. 

Doyoung found it difficult to get back on track. Each time he saw a flower he felt revolted, repulsed, had a big urge to crush it and let the thorns prickle his skin – but refrained from doing so. When winter came and the flowers hid under the protection of the thick layers of snow, he felt more at ease. And after that, it felt a tiny bit better. After another winter, much more.

Life went on. Doyoung dedicated himself to work, the separation soon became nothing but a bittersweet memory of the past, colours of which faded into toneless greys. 

On a chilly evening, Doyoung went out to town. He walked a familiar route to the center, which was lively and bustling with life. He hadn’t felt as lively lately, whatever the reason. His feet took him to a park, the one he visited a few seasons ago. The view from the glass was surprisingly clear, the river was flowing smoothly, the atmosphere felt mellow. It was still, lifeless even; no one stood on the bridge besides him above the river. The sun was slowly setting down. Doyoung admired the colour palette the offered that night – it was a perfect blend of pastels and saturated tones, pretty to watch, to get lost in. 

Doyoung saw from the corner of his eyes a man appear on the other end of the bridge. His face was illuminated by vibrant oranges and purples, gold of honey reflected in his deep brown eyes; his hair was a faded blond with brown roots showing; he looked alive, looked laidback and free, as if an eternal fire was burning in his chest. He was wearing a simple attire; a silver ring dangling on a chain around his neck glimmered in the sunset. They exchanged polite, distant smiles. The man’s smile looked fulfilled, eyes full of happiness and content.

The flower finally bloomed, Doyoung thought.

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by a russian literature piece i really like  
> hmu on twt or cc: eyeronicmuch


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